Graves Don't Hold Miracles
by Ericka Jane
Summary: Direct spoliers for 4x01. Oneshot. Desperate people do desperate thing, and in Dean's case, it's going back to his grave to find some answers. He just isn't ready to believe what he's being told. REVISED 11/10/09


A/N: Rewrote Nov. 10, 2009.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything related. The song lyrics belong to Brand New and Co. No infringement intended.

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_If there's any justice in heaven, then God won't let me in  
He'll lock the gates and take my weekend pass away  
With a sympathetic wave, they'll see me off, return my golden crown  
While I am cursed to walk the earth for a millennia  
I know I deserve worse but it terrifies me and I can't take it anymore_

_-Brand New, "Untitled 2"_

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**Graves Don't Hold Miracles**

If someone asked me why I went back I'd lie to them. Morbid fascination seems like a plausible excuse but I know it's more than that. Memories of hell show up in snippets that make my breathing pause in terror, and it scares me shitless to know that one day I will remember everything that happened there. It'd be wishful thinking to assume otherwise. That is exactly what puts a drive in me that's so absolute that I _need_ to see that I'm not dreaming this. I need to see that I'm not still trapped there. It's stupid because obviously I busted free somehow but I'm having a hell of a time wrapping my head around everything, especially the 'angel' thing.

I deliberately ignore the gas station as the Impala glides past it. I know that if I look at the busted glass I'll think of the three ring circus I just took part in while trying to figure out who or _what _Castiel is, and I'm just not ready to bring up those thoughts again. Angels...complete bullshit.

I park the car at the edge of the woods and the dark swallows both me and the vehicle whole with overwhelming blackness. The sounds of insects echo in the silence, forming a hard knot in my stomach as the memory of being here the first time around crashes home. I slam the door shut to the Impala a little harder than necessary. I'm so consumed with the tiny pit of dread forming in my gut that I don't even wince at the abuse.

I've only walked this path once but the hunter in me knows where to go. I know where to look for the landmarks, the barely visible footprints, and the trails. It doesn't take long before I'm there. The denseness of the woods disperses quickly to reveal the circle of flattened trees. I make my way through the maze of limber slowly. My eyes are glued to the center where I know my once grave is looming like a challenge. My feet crunch on the water starved grass as I get closer and closer to the jagged hole in the ground. I stop short of the caved in dirt, not wanting to accidentally stumble into the opening.

The crude cross made out of thin wood towers over the mangled hole I dug myself out of. The scene manages to ricochet a shiver up and down my spine. Starring at the morbid sight, I half expect another spew of mini hell flash backs to assault me but they don't come. Instead my grave is sparking off a whole different set of thoughts, like what Sam must have gone through when he was shoveling the dirt on top of my pine box, or how hard it must have been to walk away after it was done. I wasn't there for it, not really, but I can almost see the scene clear as day and it makes my heart clench. I swallow and look away from the ragged gap in the earth and wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

"Dean."

The voice makes me start before I reach for the gun in my jeans, embarrassed frustration overcoming me as I realize that I let some one get the drop on me. Then I lay my eyes on the owner of my voice and I find myself relaxing a bit more than I probably should because like I said, angels…bullshit.

I let out a breath and shake my head, "You should really make some noise or something before you come up behind some poor bastard in the middle of no where. I could've shot you."

The last part comes out part warning and part sarcasm but Castiel either ignores it or doesn't care, because he says, "It would not have harmed me."

I want to say something like 'too bad' or 'that's unfortunate' but something tells me that I shouldn't provoke him when all I have is my hand gun, and this guy didn't even flinch when I stabbed him with Ruby's knife.

"Whatever," I mutter and go back to staring at what was supposed to be my final resting place.

It's hard to wrap my head around the idea that I was dead and lying right here in the ground and now I'm alive and kicking, scar-less as the day I was born. It's so beyond the point of surreal.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Castiel inquires as he takes his eyes off the ground and fixes me with a stare that feels like it's going straight through my chest, and into my soul.

I snort, trying to fend off being uncomfortable, "Shouldn't you know? Aren't angels supposed to be all knowing or something?"

"We don't know everything," Is what Castiel replies with, so absolute that it sort of makes me uneasy.

I stare at him trying to wrap my head around what he said and something hits me, "Why are _you _here?"

Castiel tilts his head and then looks away, "You looked like you needed guidance."

I bark out a sarcastic laugh, "Oh, that's rich. I've gone my whole life without your 'guidance,' I sure as hell don't need it now."

"You never believed until now."

"I still don't." I stare Castiel dead in the eye, letting him know that he's wasting his breath.

"Then why are you still here?" Castiel repeats.

Honestly, I'm not sure why. This whole situation is kinda over my head and considering all the situations I've been in, that's saying a lot. But really it isn't every day that someone gets sprung from hell, fresh as a daisy, and has a conversation with a might-be-angel over a grave that was once theirs. It's almost too screwy.

"I don't know."

And what I really don't know is why I said that to him. Things are starting to feel too chummy and I can feel the iron bolt on my mouth loosening. For once I feel myself wanting to tell some one what's going through my head.

I glance at Castiel, unsure. It kind of feels hypocritical to say that angels and heaven don't exit when I just spent a rather long time in the pit, but I've also spent thirty years on earth, seeing nothing but evil. If there are angels where the hell have they been while everyone on earth has been suffering? Where were they when mom was killed or when Sammy died? Where were they for Sam when I was gone?

I'm hit with a renewed burst of anger and I find myself glaring at Castiel, who seems to be unaffected, much to my irritation.

"You look angry," Castiel comments.

"Boy, nothing gets past you," I reply scathingly.

"I do not understand why."

"This is all bullshit, that's why! Why me? Why me when people like my mom and Sam, who have been praying and believing their whole lives, get screwed over? I believe in the tooth fairy more than I believe in angels, and I get yanked out of hell by a guy in an ugly trench coat! How's that fair? How's it fair that everyone I care about didn't catch a break? Why am I so special?"

When Castiel looks at me, I immediately regret opening my mouth. He looks like he's going to feed me some rehearsed church sermon or something.

"Why do you have such little faith?"

I roll my eyes and wonder briefly yet again why I'm about to open my mouth. Do angels have mind control?

"Have you not been listening? What, you got feathers in your ears or something?"

"I do not mean faith in God, in heaven, I mean faith in yourself," Castiel corrects and fixes me with that same sympathetic stare that he pinned on me when he whispered, 'you don't think you deserved to be saved.'

I swallow because my stomach's starting to churn. I'm not entirely sure why yet but I know it has something to do with hell, with what happened there. Not for the first time, I beg someone (definitely not God) to erase hell from my head. I don't want to remember.

"Whatever. Go take your preaching somewhere else," is what I end up growling but neither of us move.

The caved in hole in the ground has caught my attention again. I find myself trying to stare through it, trying to find some piece of evidence that confirms everything that Castiel has told me, something like angel feathers or something equally as holy. There's nothing there but dirt and some specks of blood from my beat up hands. And the more I stare at it, the more anxious and well, scared, I feel. It feels like hell is right there beneath my feet and if I was to be unlucky and slip, it'd land right back in the pit. It feels like my broken pine box is a door way to the underworld.

I take a step back and swallow, hoping that when I speak my voice doesn't shake, "I should get back to Sam."

I turn on my heel and force myself not to run away.

"You're wrong, Dean," Castiel says from behind me.

I stop even though I really, really don't want to, but for some reason, I can't keep walking.

"About what?"

"You deserved to be saved, you still do. You deserve God's attention," he says with so much conviction that my traitorous heart actually wants to believe him. But my head knows better, it knows twenty nine years of evil and death. It knows hell.

I don't respond as I continue to stalk away, leaving the 'angel' and my ex-grave behind me. If God really wanted me from the pit, great, but I can't help but feel like there's not a snowball's chance that it's true. God doesn't reward people like me, not after everything that's happened. He made a mistake.

When I get back to the motel Sam's already asleep in the opposite bed, and the room is quiet. I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. I fall asleep wondering if I'd be back in hell when I woke up, or if I'd still be here, with the memories just under the surface, pounding to get out.

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_And so three cheers for my morose and grieving pals  
And now let's hear it for the tears that I've welled up  
We've come too far to have to give it up all now  
We live lives that are rich and blessed  
And we burn for how we transgress_


End file.
